


A Thousand Words

by theimprobable1



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:33:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimprobable1/pseuds/theimprobable1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock keeps a picture on the mantelpiece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Words

The framed picture looks a little odd on the mantelpiece next to the skull, but then, Sherlock supposes it would look odd anywhere – in Sherlock’s flat. He’s never been the kind of person to keep photos of loved ones on display – or to keep them at all. He knows everyone will think it uncharacteristically sentimental of him. He can see their reactions already: Mycroft’s raised eyebrows, Molly’s quick sympathetic glance before she looks away like she’s been caught doing something forbidden, Mrs Hudson’s gushing about how sweet it is before she pats his arm.

They will all be wrong, however. It’s not sentimental at all. Sherlock doesn’t need inadequate photos of John – he has whole galleries of him at his disposal, every smile, every frown, every little passing expression that Sherlock can’t find a name for in any of the languages he knows. He has John giggling at crime scenes, John blissfully sipping endless cups of tea, John looking up at Sherlock in awe. He has everything. He can track the progression of the lines on John’s face and the grey in his hair, look up every single horrifying jumper he has ever worn. He doesn’t forget.

No, his reasons are entirely practical: it’s a reminder.

It’s easy to distort a memory – make a smile mean something it doesn’t, turn a friendly pat on the shoulder into a caress. It’s too easy, and sometimes it’s impossible to stop himself from doing it. Sometimes there are bleak days and long nights and no way of resisting the temptation to slip into the illusion like into a warm bath, to give himself, just for a moment, what he’s never had.

And afterwards it’s too easy to let pain bloom in his chest and fill his entire being with hurt and regret until it feels like it will never stop. It’s then that he needs this: a practical reminder of what is real and what matters. A moment frozen in time, motionless, a picture Sherlock’s imagination can’t twist into something it isn’t.

John’s grin is so wide it threatens to split his face in two. He has an arm around Mary, who’s holding two-day-old Emily in her arms. Sherlock took the picture himself, and it’s real: the absolute, undiluted joy on John’s face. Sherlock only has to look at it for short while before his heart begins to feel lighter, John’s happiness mending the cracks with gentle surgical sutures.

It’s a reminder: this is real, and it’s everything.

It’s a reminder: there is no pain, there are no regrets.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Thousand Words [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4696160) by [Lockedinjohnlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lockedinjohnlock/pseuds/Lockedinjohnlock)




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